"Mademoiselle will believe that if I only dared assure myself that so
great a happiness and honor were really intended for me, my gratitude
would be as lasting as my life. But how dare I believe that Mademoiselle
does not speak, rather from her own sympathy or goodness, than from a
certainty that the Countess de St. Alyre would concede so great an
honor?"

"Monsieur believes either that I am not, as I pretend to be, in the
secret which he hitherto supposed to be shared by no one but the
Countess and himself, or else that I am cruelly mystifying him. That I
am in her confidence, I swear by all that is dear in a whispered
farewell. By the last companion of this flower!" and she took for a
moment in her fingers the nodding head of a white rosebud that was
nestled in her bouquet. "By my own good star, and hers--or shall I call
it our 'belle etoile?' Have I said enough?"

"Enough?" I repeated, "more than enough--a thousand thanks."

"And being thus in her confidence, I am clearly her friend; and being a
friend would it be friendly to use her dear name so; and all for sake of
practicing a vulgar trick upon you--a stranger?"

"Mademoiselle will forgive me. Remember how very precious is the hope of
seeing, and speaking to the Countess. Is it wonderful, then, that I
should falter in my belief? You have convinced me, however, and will
forgive my hesitation."

"You will be at the place I have described, then, at two o'clock?"